In A World Of Our Own
by jazzi.jenni
Summary: Life was the happiest it could be. Sherlock solved another case, John was content with life and with Sherlock. That all changed in a heartbeat.
1. Flying High

**A.N:****Well, My first ever Fic! R+R and Concrit welcome!****  
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**Chapter 1**

London at twilight, whizzing by on the Sherlock's coat-tails was one of the most beautiful sights John has had the pleasure of seeing every now and then on a case when they were chasing or being chased.

This night was no exception. Sherlock and John were chasing a blackmailer-turned-killer trying to extort money from financial executives. The part that had grasped Sherlock's interest was that once the killer got what he wanted, he sent a present to each victim. In a wrapped box was a frog. Not just any frog, but a Golden Poison frog aka _Phyllobates terriblis_. When touched, the alkaloid poison stops nerves from transmitting impulses which lead to heart failure in the victims.

John thought he was getting far too old for this running lark so he welcomed a break as the killer got away from his pursuers round the corner of the alley and out of sight into a busy road.

"Did you see…. where… he went?" John spluttered, trying to get his breath back.

"Oddly enough, no, John," Sherlock said sarcastically, "Or else I would not be here discussing where he went and in fact chasing the killer."

"Alright Sherlock! Keep your bloody pants on!"

"That's not what you were saying a few nights ago now, was it?" Sherlock said with a wry smile and a quirked eyebrow.

John smothered a laugh with a cough before taking his partner's arm and walking through the streets heading towards home, 221B Baker Street. Sherlock took out his phone and texted Lestrade of the last known location where they'd last seen the killer, instructing him to get a move or he would lose them.

"You know, John…" Sherlock said contemplatively, tucking his phone back into his pocket, "I have never thought I'd ever be content and happy. But somehow - and I would never call it fate as that is a _silly_ notion trying to find meaning to everyday occurrences - but being here with you, solving cases with you, there is nowhere else in the world I'd ever want to be. You are the centre of mine, John."

John stopped walking, feeling overwhelmed with so many emotions; love, admiration, joy, and heartache that Sherlock never felt anything before he met John. Sherlock's declaration was a rarity. He was never into public displays of affection, but this is one that John would remember for a long time.

Sherlock turned to John with a flash of concern on his face, as if he has said something wrong. He would never pour his heart out to anyone, to be so vulnerable that anyone could smash it. But John was no ordinary person. He was his little army doctor, his idiot (sometimes), his lover, his partner, his friend.

"John, what is it? Did I say something wrong?" Sherlock asked, the concern becoming ever more apparent in his voice.

"No. Everything is just perfect," John whispered, his smile widening, his hands coming up to cup Sherlock's face.

"Then why did you stop?"

"I know that you don't believe in fate or luck, but I feel as if I am the luckiest person and the most alive I have ever been. Before you, in the months after I was invalided home from Afghanistan, those months were the darkest. I thought no-one would want me, battered and bruised with a blown up shoulder, a psychosomatic limp and the worst of nightmares. I thought that I wasn't worth caring for, but when we met for the first time, in St Bart's, I knew that I'd want to be with you, your daft experiments and your brilliant mind. Running through London with you has never made me feel more alive, wanted and a part of your life, which is why I have to do this…"

John let go of Sherlock, stepped away slightly, looking at Sherlock's puzzled and somewhat worried expression. John then took hold of Sherlock's hand, watching the detective's eyes growing wider as John knelt on his good knee.

"Sherlock, I want to spend forever with you and more, from solving cases, to keeping bees out in the country when we're old. Sherlock, will you marry me?"

For the first time since John entered his life and most probably ever, Sherlock was speechless.

"Eh, Sherlock? Please don't keep me down here on the damp pavement - although my leg and limp is psychosomatic, it still hurts!"

With that, Sherlock pulled John up, grabbed him by the waist and swung him round in circles. Once the motion had ceased, Sherlock kissed him passionately, still holding John with his feet dangling two feet off the ground.

"I think that may have been a yes?" John asked, a smile growing at the corners of his mouth. Sherlock let him down, although John still kept hold of Sherlock's waist.

"Of course it is, you idiot! If you couldn't have deduced my response at that point then there really is no hope for the you now, is there?" Sherlock exclaimed, with the widest, most genuine smile John had ever seen.

John smiled up at his now fiancé - a term, he thought, he would really need to get used to saying. "Thank you so much," John whispered, kissing his perfectly angel bowed lips.

"I think we should make a move home, as it has turned to night in the time we have been standing here," Sherlock chuckled.

"I think we'd better, there are a lot of unsavoury types around these parts," John said, taking Sherlock's arm.

"As well as my brother."

"Oi! He's not that bad! Besides you'll be asking him to be your best man."

Sherlock groaned. "He'll be an insufferable git and highly likely to hoover up the wedding cake."

"He is still your brother, Sherlock."

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><p>In a building made of steel and reinforced concrete, Mycroft watched on through CCTV as his brother's flatmate got down on one knee. Within that dead, cold exterior, Mycroft's heart leapt. He watched in anticipation at his brother's response. He saw Sherlock swing his flatmate, kissing him, then linking arms they walked toward 221B.<p>

Well done, brother. I'm happy for you," Mycroft said under his breath, inaudible to the people around him.

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><p>As they rounded the corner onto Baker Street and passed one of Mycroft's agents, he heard John say, "…you'll be asking him to be your best man."<p>

"He'll be an insufferable git and highly likely to hoover up the wedding cake."

"He is still your brother, Sherlock."

Mycroft chucked under his breath before getting up and returning to his office.

"Thank you, John. Sherlock? I'll get you back for that remark." Mycroft chuckled with a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat envious.

Once on Baker Street Sherlock quickened his pace, John lagging behind - still held on by their intertwining hands.

From out of nowhere, Sherlock heard the unmistakeable sound of an aluminium, baseball bat strike bone. He then felt the tug of his arm, pulling him downward. As he turned round, John hit the ground.

He saw the figure run out of sight, round the corner, but caught enough of a glimpse to know that it was the killer that they had been chasing earlier. The killer had stalked them back to Baker Street. Sherlock couldn't think about that now; his fiancé was lying on concrete unconscious outside of 221B.

"John? JOHN!" Sherlock yelled.

A mixture of disbelief, panic and adrenaline was running through Sherlock as he slumped to his knees beside John's limp and seemingly lifeless body, unresponsive to Sherlock's cries. Sherlock checked hastily for a pulse and found one barely beating beneath his fingers. There was a growing damp patch on the ground underneath John's head. Terror set in as Sherlock realised belatedly that John's life was draining away.

In that moment, two British Service agents ran towards them, checking John, then Sherlock with calm urgency. One of the agents radioed for an ambulance and the police. Within a minute or two, sirens were blaring down Baker Street.

"Sherlock! What the hell -" DI Lestrade bellowed as he lunged out the car and made a beeline for Sherlock. It was not until he got within a few feet that he saw John on the ground, fighting for his life.

"Lestrade," Sherlock finally managed to say. "It's the killer, the Golden Poison Frog killer. We chased him and he got away. He followed us and struck John on the back of the head with an aluminium baseball bat." Sherlock manages to croak out before becoming silent again.

"Oh, God. Go Sherlock, just go, he needs you there with him. I will handle everything. Go."

Sherlock clambered into back of the ambulance and sped off.

"Please don't leave me, not now." Sherlock whispered, tears dropping onto the floor as the ambulance sped into the night.

"Sir, an extremely urgent situation of the highest importance has arisen. Your brother and Doctor Watson," Anthea said.

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><p>"What is it, my dear?" Mycroft replied, sitting bolt upright in his leather chair.<p>

"Agents have called in at Baker Street," Anthea replied, "Doctor Watson was struck over the head with a baseball bat. At the moment he is barely alive but holding on. Sherlock is in the ambulance with him."

Mycroft felt utterly sick, as if he had sustained a sucker punch to the gut. With a measured breath, he replied to Anthea. "Get them to a private hospital, the best that specialises in head trauma as soon as possible once Doctor Watson has been stabilised in A&E. In the mean time, get me over there to them NOW."


	2. Waiting

**A.N: Thanks for reading my First fanfic! On to chapter 2!**

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><p>A thousand million thoughts went through Sherlock's mind, but at the forefront was John's welfare.<p>

He had been sitting in a relatives waiting room for what felt like forever, his head held in his hands counting the ticks of the annoying clock in the corner, seemingly tutting at him.

Down the corridor, he could hear familiar footsteps, not like the many others that have passed his door. Quickened pace, the sound of an umbrella tip striking the ground every so often. "Mycroft," Sherlock whispered with relief and annoyance.

"Baby brother," Mycroft spoke with care and concern in his voice.

Mycroft sat down beside his completely exhausted counterpart, putting a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Why couldn't it have been anyone else Mycroft? I could certainly think of a few people that deserved it better than him. Anyone but him," Sherlock croaked.

"Sherlock, he will get through this. He has been through far worse, even before he met you. Remember, he fought for Queen and Country through the horror of war and came out the other side with his life somewhat intact. He then met you, fell in love with you and _will_ spend his life with you, watching you both grow old and keep bees in our Sussex country home."

"Mycroft, I hope for your sake that he's alright. Otherwise I will disown you as my brother."

Mycroft sighed, frustrated and concerned at what this will do to Sherlock if John never recovers.

Sherlock sat back into the hard, plastic chair, leaning his head on Mycroft's shoulder.

"Thank you for coming here, to sit by me. I know you're busy starting wars, but I do appreciate the support, even though I may not show it," Sherlock said, completely vulnerable to any remarks that may be thrown his way.

"Not at all baby brother," Mycroft said, hand stroking Sherlock's hair, reminding him of the days up at the Manor when they were not fighting, just being brothers.

"I suppose I should be thanking you by the way. You don't need to ask, but I'd be delighted to accept."

"I should've known you'd be listening in," Sherlock snorted. "Your invitation may be invalid if John..." Sherlock's voice trailed off.

"Sherlock, let me put this in words of one syllable," Mycroft said firmly. "John. Will. Recover. You. Will. Be. Dragging. Him. Down. The. Aisle. And. Will. Be. Driving. Him. Insane. With. Your. Experiments. For. The. Rest. Of. Time."

Sherlock quietened at Mycroft's tone.

At that moment DI Lestrade came into the waiting room, looking at the two worried looking men stare back at him.

"Heard anything?"

"Not as yet Gregory," Mycroft sighed.

"Have you caught the bastard who did this?" Sherlock said through gritted teeth, anger beginning to creep up on him.

"Fortunately, yes. The police 'copter was in the area and managed to track him hiding in Regent's Park with the heat-seeking cameras."

"Once I am no longer needed here, I will be having an intimate chat with the perpetrator," Mycroft quipped.

Lestrade sighed as he knew his partner all too well. Mycroft would take the situation into his own hands to, as he put it 'terminate his involvement with society'.

For what seemed like forever, eventually the doctor treating John entered the relative's room. All three stood up, but only Sherlock came to stand in front of the doctor.

"Hello I'm Dr Kane. I'm the consultant trauma in A+E specialising in head trauma - "

"Spare me your credentials doctor, we both know you had to take resits-"

"Sherlock! Be quiet and let him speak!" Mycroft barked. "Forgive my brother Dr Kane, this situation does not breed good manners from my brother."

"Quite alright, Mr..."

"Holmes, Mycroft. This is my brother and partner of John Watson, Sherlock."

"Nice to meet you. Well, I'd better get down to business. Dr Watson has suffered quite a traumatic event. He has sustained extensive damage to the back of the head and neck. Such a traumatic event caused him to bleed into the space between the brain. For now we are leaving the skull temporarily broken to let the brain swell, but the bleeding we managed to fix and also had to do a decompressive craniotomy to reduce the swelling.

"Now, while doing a scan before the surgery we noticed a lesion that shows he has sustained damage to the brainstem. I cannot say for sure, but in most probability he will be brain damaged. To what extent, I am unsure. We will need to see when he wakes up as he is currently in a coma. From this type of injury to the basilar artery, we can say for certain that he will have Locked-In Syndrome meaning he will be paralysed except for possibly the eyes and eyelids. It is highly likely he will never recover and possibly decline due to complications with this syndrome.

"I will tell the nurses to bring you in once John wakes up. I'm really sorry to give you such bad news."

The doctor left the room with its three occupants staring back to where he exited in various states of shock, stress disbelief and grief on their ashen faces.


	3. Locked In

**A.N**: Thanks so much for all the subscriptions, story alerts and everything! Means a lot to me! As usual, Concrit and reviews welcome!

In this, John wakes up and find everything is not all as it seems. (John's inner thoughts are in italic, you'll see why later. =) )

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><p><em>Wow. I feel as if I've been hit by a bus. Either that or I've got the worst hangover in history and I'll blame it on Greg.<em>

_Wait. Why am I in darkness? Why am I talking to myself? Why can't I open my eyes and move?_

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><p><em>Sherlock. Sherlock? Please be with me here. I feel alone and scared.<em>

_This is worse than losing soldiers in Afghanistan and you're the only one left in the battle._

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><p><em>Am I dead? Is this what it feels like to die? It's incredibly dull. Ha! Sherlock would hate this. I think he would kill himself all over again if he thought this was it. I guess in the circumstances, it's a bit not good thinking about that for a while.<em>

_Wait, hold on. I can hear something..._

"... It's obvious by the state of your jewellery that you are not faithful to jewellery that you are not faithful to your other half for about, ooooh 6 years? And that you've given him an STI from your affair with the car repair man by the odour of the perfume you're wearing in places that otherwise wouldn't normally go. Tut, tut! A nurse of all people should know how to protect herself!"

"PISS OFF!" Slam_._

_Wow he really is getting on everyones nerves!_

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><p><em>I've never heard him hum before but this is actually quite nice. Very soothing. He should play it on his violin.<em>

_Hang on. Where am I?_

_Lets think about this. I proposed to Sherlock, he said yes, we held hands walking home and... blank. Now, I've ended up here, wherever 'here' is!_

_Wait a minute, I heard he was talking to someone and referred to them as 'nurse'. _

_Oh god. I'm in hospital. What the bloody hell has happened now? Has Sherlock taken apart another electrical appliance and blown it up._

_Hold on, I can feel something. Is... is that Sherlock... holding my hand?_

_Thank you my detective, my love._

_Something is happening to me. I can feel my eyelids regaining strength. I think I can open them now. Let's see..._

_Yep. Its hospital alright. Soothing colours on the walls, pictures of landscapes and scenery, the smell of disinfectant. This is not Bart's. He must have had me transferred to a private hospital._

_Oh god. This must be serious._

"Now then, Mr Watson,"

"Doctor!" _I'm a doctor for Christ's sake! Did you not read my notes or are you one of those lazy doctors I see now and then?_

"We have seen for a few days now that you have been waking up from your chemically-induced coma-"

_Je-sus. This is serious for me to be put in a coma._

"I need for you to tell me, in any way possible, do you remember your name?"

"Of course he does, you idiot! You just told him! He's going to remember what you said two seconds ago!"

"Mr Holmes, let me do my job."

"Fine."

"Blink once for yes, twice for no. Do you remember your name?"

_Blink. Of course I bloody do._

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

_Blink. I don't recognise the place, but the smell of hospital disinfectant is unique._

"And do you know who this man is?"

_Blink. Yes, my Sherlock._

"Do you know why you're here?"

_Blink Blink. No, I don't. I don't remember anything, just my proposal to Sherlock._

"Okay John. You have suffered a major blow to the back of your head. We've had to stem the intra-cranial bleed and to leave the skull cracked to let the brain stop swelling, which looks fine now. However, the trauma did some pretty bad damage to a portion of your brain that controls your voluntary muscle system. As a consequence, you are completely paralysed except for your eye movement. This is what we call Locked-In Syndrome. It is rare to come out of this entirely recovered but we are willing to do our best if you fight with us, Okay?"

_... Blink. Oh, my god._

"We will be taking more MRI's we can look at any lasting damage and changes within the brain's function as you are treated and we will go from there in terms of future prognosis. Alright?"

_Blink._

"Alright. I will see you later on today to discuss any results or queries. Goodbye for now."

_Jesus. I can't... I don't know if I have enough strength..._

"Listen to me John. You can fight this. I know you can. You are a fighter. You fought in Afghanistan and you fought for me, please don't give up."

_I... I'll try. Blink._

_I need to sleep._


	4. Communication

A.N: Thanks so much to everyone that has read this, put on subscription and commented. It means sooo much! Sorry it took a long while, prsonal life got in the way. Sorry also that this might not be of top quality. I was struggling with this chapter to try and move the story on but i now know where to go with it. Thanks! JJ

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><p>When John opened his eyes again, it was daylight still. But he felt more rested despite his current condition, so he guessed that he had been spark out since yesterday.<p>

Sherlock was also deep in sleep. He hadn't slept since before the case of the killer frogs, which was nearly... _Oh, my god, I don't know how long I've been here. The doctor said that I'd been in a coma, but for how long?_

From looking at Sherlock from the corner of his eye, he looked as if he'd been there for a long while. Starting to grow stubble, crinkled suit, yes John had picked up a few things from Sherlock when it came to deducing. He moved his eyes around the room, looking at all the "Get Well" cards probably from his sister and the people at Scotland Yard and a bouquet of flowers, no doubt from Mrs. Hudson.

What did catch his eye was a screen, closer than you would put a TV directly in front of him, in his direct line of sight. The screen was lit up with all sorts of words and a conventional keyboard also on-screen too. What irritated him also in his line of sight is something in the corner of his eye. John then figured it was connected to the screen in front of him. He moved his eye to one of the words and found that the cursor moved with it. He blinked to select the word and blinked again to drop it into the speech box. He then took the cursor towards the 'Speak' button and blinked.

**"Sherlock."**

Sherlock startled awake like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. He looked around then turned his eyes to John.

**"Sherlock."**

Sherlock stood up and was immediately by John's side. He watched John's face as he tried to work the new eye-tracking equipment Mycroft brought in especially as to ease the speaking barrier and to bring his brother some comfort that John would be able to talk, no matter in what way possible. It also came with specialised dictionary of words, no doubt Mycroft's doing to tailor it to John's needs.

**"I love you."**

Sherlock's heart swelled immeasurably. He was at last communicating with his loved one, his John, the person that made him become a good man. John is the man that is the sun to his moon, if he believed any of this orbiting malarkey.

"I... I love you too. I'm so happy that you are communicating to me finally. It's such an overwhelming feeling to hear you and your thoughts. It's been insanely dull here." Sherlock choked out a laugh.

**"I have been hearing you berate the staff! It's not on Sherlock. I know how hard they work, I am a doctor. But, it is so good to hear and see you now."**

Sherlock gave a chaste kiss to his fiancé but then paused. "Can you... can you feel me... kiss you?"

**"Oh god, yes. I've missed this. I've missed you."**

Sherlock longingly kissed him again, unfazed by John's unmoving lips.

**"I'm sorry I can't reciprocate-"**

"No, you do not be sorry. This is not your fault. I blame myself. I put you in here just because I didn't observe the signs that he was following us. I'm so sorry John and I will never forgive myself for what I've done."

**"Sherlock, please do not blame yourself. You did not know just like me that he was going to come after us."**

"Still all the same, I should have seen this coming. I cannot live without you John. Please, fight. I can't bear it. Please be ok-", Sherlock hugged John as tears threatened to spill.

"**I don't intend to be going anywhere soon, definitely not in the immediate future."**

Sherlock let out a low laugh mixed with sobs. "Regardless, I want to see you walk down the aisle to meet me and have our ceremony. Would you please do that for me?"

**"Of course I will. Hey! What makes you think I'll be the bride walking down the aisle last? You'd look better in a dress with your long, curly locks!"**

Sherlock let out a happier baritone laugh that John felt the vibrations of in his lungs. "That is as maybe, but I would like to see my soldier doctor march down that aisle towards me in full regalia and fully recovered, ready to take me as your husband and possibly more on the honeymoon." Sherlock said with a wink.

**"How did I know that was your intentions for me to marry you?"**

Sherlock giggled till he was interrupted by one of the nurses and a porter.

"Sorry to break this up, but we have to take you Dr Watson down for an MRI to assess the extent of the damage the trauma caused within the brain. This porter will be taking you down now", the nurse said with a curt smile.

"See you soon John. Love you." Sherlock said with a kiss to John's lips.

**"Love you too. Get some rest and go back to the flat to refresh and recharge and I'll see you soon."**

With their conversation at an end, the porter along with the nurse took John to the MRI suite. John was taken a few floors down to the suite and rolled in beside the huge MRI machine, where another two nurses slid him onto the MRI bed. Within 45 minutes, all manner of pictures of John's brain were taken to ensure he'd have the best prognosis and treatment possible. When he was finished with, John was slid back onto the bed and the nurses left him to be taken up by the porter. What he didn't ever reckon would happen is who was walking into the suite dressed in porters clothes.

"Hey Johnny boy! Did you miss me? Cause I missed you, but not half as much as I missed Sherlock!" Moriarty said with an evil, unsettling grin on his face.

With the audio visual equipment left in his room and his vocal chords couldn't move to scream, all he could do was stare in horror as Moriarty wheeled John out of the suite and towards what the signs were indicating as the mortuary.

"Well, this is your stop here, Johnny boy." Moriarty stopped the bed in the middle of the room and faced John. "All the home comforts of dead bodies and tools for slicing open corpses, it's a pity we had a mix up with the rooms when you first came in. That little thug that hit you didn't do his job properly, but now you're in the right place." Moriarty's unsettling grin was back.

"Oh, _congratulations_ by the way on your impending nuptials, although you won't actually get to see them," Moriarty said with a hint of derision, "you see, what my little minion did actually do was incapacitate you to the highest extent. Sooooo... you won't be able to run, scream or do anything when the coroner comes back in and finds a _very_ fresh body to cut up." Moriarty sighs contently. "Then I'll be able to play with my little Sherlock. Ooooh! We'll have so much fun!" Moriarty cheerfully quipped. "And you, damaged little _mongrel,_ will get to sit in these nice little fridges and cool off, assuming you're still alive of course." Moriarty whispered, close to John's ear. "Once I get to play and finish my game with Sherlock, he can join you here. Dead or alive, I haven't decided yet."

Moriarty walked towards the swing doors of the mortuary exit. "Byeeee!" In that moment, he was gone, his parting words ringing in the mortuary and John's ears.

_Oh christ, what the hell am I going to do? I need to warn Sherlock, anyone! Argh, how can I do that when I'm a vegetable? Oh... Oh god..._

The coroner came bustling in the door with a glum look on his face as if the weight of the world was on him. He definitely looked over-worked and sighed when he saw John.

"Oh goodie, another one that's pegged it. Let's see who you are- oh, great. No details at all and the bed-sheets are still on him. What do they get paid for upstairs? It certainly isn't stripping the bed and body. Ok you, let's get you on the steel table so you won't make a mess."

At that moment, a squeak came out of John, as if to try and scream at this man that he's still alive. The coroner turned his head slowly towards his supposed 'corpse' and saw that he was blinking rapidly as well as squeaking.

"Oh, my god!" The coroner screamed and ran out of the mortuary, leaving John wondering whether he would be getting out of this cold room soon to warn someone of Moriarty's intentions.


End file.
